


Twenty Cents a Page

by dance_across



Category: due South
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Horrible Euphemisms, M/M, Post-Call of the Wild, Pre-Slash, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_across/pseuds/dance_across
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray and Fraser discover that someone's been writing stories about them. Slashy, slashy stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Cents a Page

Of the two of them, Ray’s the one with an email address. Which means that three weeks into their quest, when they stop in some unpronounceable-name town and check into a motel for the night, Ray’s the one who goes, “Ooh, a _computer_!”

“It’s twenty dollars for half an hour,” says the lady behind the desk, handing Fraser the keys to their room. “Interested? We have Web access and everything.”

Ray looks at Fraser, who seems mildly amused, in a three-week-beardy kind of way, at Ray’s enthusiasm. Then he looks back at the desk lady. “Uh, maybe later. We gotta get supplies first. Restocking, see. We’re on a quest.”

“A quest,” repeats the desk lady, apparently unimpressed.

“If you’d like to use the computer, Ray,” says Fraser, “I’m more than capable of restocking on my own.”

“You sure?” asks Ray. “I mean, I said I’d help….”

“Dief will be more than enough help,” says Fraser, glancing at the door. “Relax. I’ll meet you up at the room later.”

So Ray hands over a Canadian twenty, sits down at the computer, and logs into his email account.

There’s spam. A lot of it. But once he deletes all that, it’s _links_. Mountains of links. Articles. Interviews. Even a couple video clips. All about the submarine, the Bolts, Muldoon. Some of them mention Fraser by name. One of them even mentions Ray himself by name—his _real_ name. There’s a picture, black-and-white and grainy, of the two of them together.

He remembers taking that picture. Some lady photographer, asking him and Fraser to pose in front of their sled before they took off.

And here it is now, in a _Tribune_ article that his mom scanned and emailed to him. Imagine that.

He goes through all the articles—and then, right at the end of his inbox, there’s an email from Frannie.

_**Subject:** Ow, my eyes!_

_Hey there, former big brother! Hope you’re having a fun time freezing your butt off up there. I found this link COMPLETELY BY ACCIDENT, and… here, just look. Or don’t look. Maybe don’t. Because if you look, you will NEVER BE ABLE TO UNSEE WHAT HAS BEEN WRITTEN HERE. I mean NEVER._

_Here’s the link anyway._

_Say hi to Fraser for me!_

_Frannie_

And at the end of the email, as promised, is a link: a long web address that begins with _www.geocities.com._ Ray clicks. The connection is slow, so it takes a while to load, but once it does…

Well, the website has this dark purple border with tiny white stars that move around, like a weird digital imitation of sparkling glitter. The text of the page is hot pink. Even once Ray puts on his glasses, it’s impossible to read.

So he copies the text, pastes it into Word, and changes the background and text to white and black, respectively. Good thing he doesn’t completely suck at computers, huh?

Or maybe not such a good thing. Because then, he starts to read.

__

**Title:** Snowfall in Summer  
**Author:** MountieGrrrrrrl57  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters/Pairings:** Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski (Remember those hot guys from that submarine thing last week? I know, I know, RPF is gross, but I couldn’t help myself! Look at them!!!)  
**Disclaimer:** These guys obviously don’t belong to me. Although, wow, the things I’d do to them if they did, lol :D 

At first, Ray doesn’t understand.

Then, a couple paragraphs later, he understands a little too well.

“Hey, uh, miss? Ma’am?” Ray waves over to the woman behind the desk, who looks up with raised eyebrows. “Do you have a printer?”

“It’s over here by me,” she says. “Twenty cents a page.”

Ray checks his pocket for change, then checks the page count. It’s completely worth it. He hits the Print button, then goes over to the desk to hand over two dollars over in exchange for the ten pages.

“NC-17, huh?” says the woman, when the printer finally finishes.

Ray snatches the pages out of her hand. “It’s, uh, nothing. My friend. She wrote this thing. She wants me to read it. It’s… yeah, anyway, see ya!”

And with that, he flees back to the sanctuary of his room.

\- - -

“Nice weather today,” says Fraser, when he finally, _finally_ comes back. His arms are full of bags, and he’s wearing his usual twelve hundred layers, and no, it’s _not_ nice weather today. It’s never nice weather up here. But for once, Ray doesn’t care.

“Read this,” he says, shoving “Snowfall in Summer” at Fraser.

“What is it?” says Fraser.

“Uh. It’s… uh. Just read it.”

Fraser raises his eyebrows. “Let me take off my coat first.”

The process seems to take five billion years. Then finally, Fraser takes the papers from Ray. He begins to read. He looks confused. Then he looks alarmed. Then he starts blinking a lot. Then he starts going very, very pink.

He delicately moves the top page to the bottom of the pile, and that’s when Ray says, “Yeah, that’s as far as I got, too.”

Fraser looks up sharply, cheeks blazing. “You—you haven’t read the whole thing?”

Ray shrugs, one-shouldered. “Uh. I, ya know, I figured I should wait for you. I didn’t want to, um… it wouldn’t seem _right_ , see….” But he’s not making any sense, even to himself. Why had he waited? If he had any sense, he’d’ve read the whole thing, shredded it into confetti, and never _ever_ mentioned it to Fraser.

“Well,” says Fraser, “if fairness was what you had in mind, then perhaps we ought to read it at the same time.”

“Yeah. Fairness. That’s, uh, definitely why I… yeah.”

Fraser sits down in one of the chairs at the tiny table by the door, motioning for Ray to sit in the other. Which he does. Fraser puts the story down in front of them, all gingerly like he’s afraid to touch it too much. “Shall we begin on page two?”

Ray hesitates, but just for a second. “Yeah. Okay.”

And so they begin reading.

For a moment, it’s quiet.

Then, in the middle of the second page, Ray can’t help himself anymore. “I don’t talk like that,” he says, pointing to a line of dialogue. “‘Benton, I must confess that I’ve always had feelings for you’? Who the fuck talks like that? And I don’t call you Benton.”

Fraser just makes this weird sound deep in his throat, and they keep reading.

“It’s ‘Sam Browne,’ not ‘sandbrown,’” Fraser murmurs. Ray looks sharply over at him; he’s blushing even harder now.

Three weeks of being alone on the ice with this guy. Three weeks of Ray making dumb innuendos, snuggling way too close every night when he gets cold, and trying to figure out a way to tell Fraser how he feels—three weeks of all that, but _this_ is what’s making Fraser blush?

Maybe printing this stupid thing out hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all.

“Hey, I’m not shorter than you,” says Ray as he continues to read. “No way would I have to look _up_ at you to say all that stuff.”

“And I’m not from Alberta.” Fraser looks almost offended. “Although I suppose the author might have been unable to find my background information, in which case…”

“‘I’ve never been with a man before,’” Ray quotes. “Fuck’s sake. Even if that shit was true, s’not exactly something you go around telling people right when you’re about to get laid.”

Fraser gives him a sidelong look, then drops his eyes quickly back to the printed page. Ray can practically _see_ that big brain working through the implications of what he just said.

A few lines later, Fraser turns the page. They both read the first line of page three, and Ray claps a hand over his mouth to smother a laugh. Fraser, meanwhile, just looks _horrified._

“I’m not a…!”

“Uh-huh,” says Ray.

“And—and even if I were,” Fraser begins. “I wouldn’t say it like _that_. But I’m—I’m not, and….”

“Suuuuure you’re not, buddy,” says Ray, grinning his damn face off. “It’s okay. You can admit it. Being a virgin’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I _know_ it’s not,” says Fraser, glaring. “But I’m _not_. There’ve been—there was Victoria and… and others as well, and…”

“Others like _guys_?” asks Ray, because fuck it, what better time would there ever be to ask a question like that?

Fraser hesitates. Shakes his head no. Then, just when disappointment is beginning to shrivel all the happy in Ray’s brain, he adds in this quiet voice, “Not yet, at least.”

And all Ray can say to that is, “Huh.”

They keep reading.

On page four, Fictional Ray and Fictional Fraser finally kiss.

On page five, Fictional Ray gets his hand down Fictional Fraser’s pants and starts fiddling around with—

“A soda can?” says Fraser. “Is there _anyone_ who’s that big?”

“I am,” says Ray. Fraser raises an eyebrow at him, and Ray adds, “I mean my arm, Frase. What were _you_ talking about?”

Fraser blushes all over again, and this time Ray lets himself laugh.

On page six, Fictional Fraser’s clothes have all mysteriously disappeared, and Fictional Ray is down on his knees. That’s when the author starts to get… descriptive.

“Joystick,” says Fraser.

“Proud manhood,” says Ray.

“Iron in velvet.”

_“Flesh banana?”_

Fraser turns to page seven. “Good lord, there’s more. One-eyed snake? Who _is_ this person?”

“You, apparently,” says Ray, whose own one-eyed snake is beginning to get very interested in the story.

“I meant the author.”

Ray shrugs. “Some internet chick. Who cares?”

On page eight, Fictional Fraser finally gets off.

On page nine, Fictional Ray’s clothes have joined Fictional Fraser’s clothes in the land of mysteriously disappearing things, and Fictional Ray is telling Fictional Fraser to get on the bed. On his stomach.

“Oh,” says Real Fraser, all soft.

“Yeah,” says Real Ray, not looking at Fraser, definitely-definitely not looking. “Oh.”

On the last page, they collapse together in a tangle of limbs, sweaty and spent.

“‘I love you, Benton,’ said Ray,” reads Ray.

Fraser clears his throat and reads the last line of the story: “Benton replied, ‘I love you too, Ray.’”

The story is over. There’s silence. Fraser rubs his eyebrow again, frowning at nothing in particular. This is it. The chance Ray’s been waiting for. They’re heading back out onto the ice tomorrow, but even though it’ll just be the two of them, it’ll be the same as it was before. Real nice, but not, you know, _real_ nice.

Not unless Ray says something, and says it now.

“Hey, uh, Fraser?”

“Yes, Ray?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you.”


End file.
